Sound and Fury of Bo, Take Two: Veterinary Boogaloo

February 21, 2006

Y'all, poor Bo. He has lived on this planet for seven years, and during that time, he has very rarely been injured, or poisoned, or beaten with sticks, or wrapped in a blanket of knives. While, yes, I have threatened him with one or all of these punishments, I have never actually raised a hand to the dog, or even spoken to him in any tone of voice that is anything other than, on occasion, "slightly exasperated." And even my "slightly exasperated" voice is dripping with the dog love. Bo has himself an easy little life.

But, you would not know this, if you had only just become acquainted with Bo this year. Because 2006: this is not Mister Bo's year. This is not the Year of the Bo. 1999 may have been the Year of the Bo, back when he still had his testicles, and that was fun for everyone. But 2006 is just not his thing. 2006 hurts Bo. And it is costing me a damned fortune.

So, very early on Saturday morning, I got up to let the dogs out. And they didn't go, because they never go outside when it is rainy or cold, and instead they just look at me with unconcealed disgust and shake their jaded little heads at my optimistic stupidity. So I sighed, and settled myself into the sofa, and was fixin' (I am Southern) to watch some TV, or maybe do some dozing, or something else equally comatose, when Bo had the Grand Idea to hop off of the sofa and go check out whether I'd put anything in the food bowl. (Answer: no.)

This is something that Bo has done, oh, seventy million times. He hops off, wanders over to the kitchen, and upon discovering that ew: dog food, he immediately returns and growls at you until you pick him up. Because Bo can get off the sofa, but he cannot get back up again. You have to lift him. Now. Lift him NOW. This is what you are told. You do it, too.

But, this early Saturday morning was different, because somehow, Bo came down hard on one leg, twisting it underneath him. And as soon as he hit the ground and this happened, I heard an ungodly, otherworldly shriek that made me remember New Year's Eve and the ensuing Stitch, and I immediately sprang to my feet. And there was Bo, lying on the ground, holding his little paw up into the air, and whining and crying like he was being fucking MURDERED.

I panicked, of course, because this is what I do. I picked him up, and he continued screeching. Remembering that last time, sausage made the screaming stop, I ran over to the refrigerator. Sadly, there was no sausage. Happily, hot dogs work just as well, so I gave him a bite of hot dog, and the screaming subsided. But the big sad brown eyes of sadness remained.

So, I stuck him up on the counter, and tried to see if I could actually find anything wrong with his leg. He wouldn't put any weight on it, and instead just stood there, miserable, holding his foot in midair. Like a little tripod. Like a tiny, angry Nazi.

I felt around on his leg, and he whimpered a little, but nothing too serious. And I couldn't feel anything broken or shifting, so I figured we'd give it an hour, and see if things improved. I gathered him up, and brought him over to the sofa again, the place where all the pain started, and held some ice against his leg while he wriggled around in small brown irritation. Finally, he fell asleep.

So, I sat there, trapped under seventeen pounds of Sleeping Pissed, waiting to see whether he'd wake up and just forget about the leg entirely (this has happened before, because Bo's capacity for martyrdom is only exceeded by his capacity for forgetting about said martyrdom), or whether we'd be making the second emergency vet trip of 2006. And it is only February.

A few hours later, Bo decided to wake up, but he did so with another shriek that sent me shooting straight into the air in horror. Apparently, his leg? Yeah. It still hurt. So, I bundled him into a blanket, and off we went.

On the way to the vet, I called to tell them we were coming. This is kind of how that went down:

Self: Hi! It's Miss Dox--

Receptionist: What happened to Bo.

Self: What? How did you kn---

Receptionist: Leigh, it's always Bo. What is it this time? What did he eat? Another box of tampons?

Self: Um. No. He didn't eat any---

Receptionist: Wait, was it more of Dukay's "herbal hangover over" pills? Or, ooh! Was it another citronella candle?

Self: Listen. He didn't eat anything. He actually hurt his leg. He jumped off the sofa and landed funny.

Anyway, we got there, and my parents actually came to meet me, and together, we hung out in the waiting room for several hours while Bo lay in my lap, staring bravely into the distance and acting all the world like death, you are so imminent, I can see... a bright light...and letting out small whimpers of agony.

At this time, I recounted the story about the Receptionist ("see, because if he broke his leg? We'd have to shoot him! Ha...! I mean, right? Like a horse? Listen, someone please think this is funny."), and about how she remembered all of the things Bo has eaten over the years.

And, it is true. Bo is not bothered by traditional notions of cuisine. He is a gourmand, and he is always willing to experiment with other flavors and sensations. Thus, while we waited, we compiled a handy list of Shit Bo Ate Once, and it is as follows:

This is all we could come up with. I know there is more. But we were being interrupted in the creation of this handy list by the sorrowful moans of the Critically Injured Mister Bo, who was not really appreciating the fact that we were making fun of him while, if you DID NOT NOTICE, the dog is on his deathbed. Where he is dying. Where DEATH occurs.

But for all his whining, his attitude switched dramatically once we actually got him into the office. When placed on the floor so that the vet could watch him hobble, Bo immediately darted between my legs, hopped over Dad's feet, crouched in the corner, and took himself an enormous, anger-fueled dump.

And, that is when I remembered something else about Bo. Mister Bo is like an octopus. He is like an octopus in several ways, which I will detail below in the following helpful chart:

People, it is a scary world out there. There might be some time when you are out in the wilderness (or possibly the ocean), and you run across a wild creature, and you wonder: is that Bo? Or is that an octopus? If only there was some way to know!

But now, see? If you print out this handy guide and keep it with you at all times, you will never have to be confused again. Or, pooped on.

Because: that is what Bo does. When Bo is threatened, he protects himself by producing a wall of ass-smell so intense and putrid that people are literally gagging and gasping for breath, running for the doors with their hands clapped over their mouths, eyes bulging wildly. When the air has cleared (so to speak), they always return and gaze, amazed, at the dog. How does he make it all? they wonder. He is wee. How does a wee dog produce so much odor?

I wish I could help y'all, but I cannot. It is an unsolved mystery of science. Still, I hypothesize (science word!) that it has something to do with the dachshund shape. It's like their entire insides are all intestine, and 99% of their inner resources are dedicating to making smells and poop and pee, all day long, and are busy doing that instead of pooling those resources in other areas, like, I don't know, the brain, and maybe that is why we end up at the vet because Bo has decided to stick his head inside a black lab. Maybe that is it. I'm just guessing, though.

So, anyway. We're at the vet when Bo decides to take a Defensive Dump on the vet's floor. And we all apologized, but the vet was like, "Oh, no, happens all the time." And she picked up Bo, and we held him down (note: it takes five grown adults to hold one Bo in place) while she checked out his leg. And even though she didn't feel anything wonky, she decided to go ahead and do some X-rays anyway, and she and her aide disappeared around the corner with the dog.

They were gone a while. A loooong while. And when they returned, they looked slightly worse for the wear, and it was explained to me that, in the process of getting his X-rays taken, Bo had:

1. Pooped again;
2. Expelled the contents of his anal glands on the aide; and
3. When placed on his back, produced an Old Faithful-style stream of urine that then rained down upon the vet, the aide, and all others in the room, including his furious, wriggling self.

The vet was like, "His leg isn’t broken. But he needs a bath now."

And, as she was speaking these words, a suddenly NOT limping, nay, completely uninjured Bo darted from my grip, dove behind my mother, and took yet another shit on the vet's office floor.

This is, I think, the point at which she suggested we take him home. And the point at which my scandalized mother finally ran from the room in horror.

“Couldn’t you just teach him to bite?” she asked, as she fled. “What kind of defense mechanism is that?”

It is Bo’s! And it is his favorite.

So now, Bo is home. He’s still limping, but the limping gets exponentially worse when there is sympathetic company, or food is being consumed. Then he is suddenly Bo, the Tragic Dog With Three Legs And One Useless Appendage Of Misery. When it’s just us, however, or when he would like to cross a room, or hop from the sofa, or whatever strikes his dog fancy, he is Bo, Dog Of Action And The Totally Uninjured Feets. If the other dogs had the capacity to roll their eyes at him, they absolutely would. “Fucking diva,” they are thinking. "What ever happened to the 'shooting him' plan? Because, that sounded good."

So, that’s it. Please think good thoughts about Mister Bo, and his sad little foot an his octopus defenses. Because, y’all, we’ve had two Bo injuries in two months. And I think that’s enough defensive poop to last us a damned lifetime.

The elusive Boris confuses his predators with a colorful variety of bowel emissions. Stay back.

87 Comments

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! I just laughed so hard at work people came running to see what I was majorly snorking about. Dammit this is a funny post!!!

Posted by: Jessica
| February 21, 2006 03:33 PM

I am laughing so hard I'm crying. Especially after spending part of my weekend at the vet. I feel your (financial) pain.

Posted by: Cara
| February 21, 2006 03:36 PM

Hey! Here's me, being fired! Would you like to know why?

Because clients are frightened when the supposed Manager is hitting her desk screaming with tears rolling down her face and pointing at her computer screen while making funny gasping noises.

but, really, thanks for the chuckles.

*kisses bo*

Posted by: Kristina
| February 21, 2006 03:39 PM

Me thinks that Bo holds the keys to the mystery of the universe, who killed Hoffa, and the Kennedy conspiracy....

Gotta run, they are coming with the net and white coat...gawd that was funny!

Posted by: Copzgirl
| February 21, 2006 03:43 PM

Good lord. You are really trying to get us all FARD, aren't you?
Because, like the other responders, I'm typing this comment as I recover from silently howling with laughter while pounding my fist on the desk and tears are streaming down my face.
Thank kittens I closed the door to my office BEFORE I started reading. Or I'd be in Big Trouble, and possibly jobless right now. You can only be so silently whil making snarkling/howling noises.

Now that I'm vertical again after keeling over from laughter (poor Bo! but just too funny -- all the poo!) I will clip the handy reference guide in case I am faced with an octopus and/or Bo and need to tell which is which.

I always think your posts are hilarious but this one actually had me laughing out loud - alot. And repeating your words aloud in disbelief: eating a box of tampons?!

Posted by: Allyson
| February 21, 2006 04:17 PM

Oh. My. God. One (meaning ME) should never take a drink whilst reading your blog. Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink!

Posted by: Ariadne
| February 21, 2006 04:27 PM

I've got it: Bo is the 8th wonder of the modern world! His skills (eating inedibles, room-clearing gas) will surely be immortalized someday soon. Here's a little ditty (sing to the tune of The Flintstones theme song)

Doxies! Meet the Doxies!
They're a modern new age family.
From the.. home of Dukay,
They're gonna be a page of his-tor-y

Let's watch as Bo eats Doxie's socks,
and uses the vets' floor as a litter box

When you're with the Doxies,
you'll have a howling good time,
A howling good time,
You'll have a gay old...time!

so so amusing, that was quite a display of fury in the x-ray room...how was y'all's Valentine's Day?

Posted by: jes
| February 21, 2006 04:36 PM

"Tampons (convenient multi-pak)" was not on the list. Did he or did he not eat tampons?

Posted by: Maggie
| February 21, 2006 04:41 PM

What I would like to know is who clears up the poop at the vet's office? Like, the one he did first in the corner? Did YOU have to clean it up? Or did the vet? Or did it just sit there while you all talked about Bo and tried to ignore it? Do they hire special poop-cleaners for this sort of thing, and their job is to stealthily move in and take away the poop while no-one is looking? Like, whose responsibility is the poop? Yours? The vet's?

I'm seriously hanging here. The poop arrived but it was not explained where it went. WHERE? And did the person use gloves?

The aide immediately swooped in got it up the first time, all, "It's no problem at all, I'm used to this and do it all the time!"

By the time Bo returned, however, and he pooped yet AGAIN on the office floor, a room full of seriously irritated heads turned to me. I was already running for the paper towels, though, completely humiliated and apologizing profusely. While Bo glared at me, all, "That's RIGHT, bitch. Clean that shit up."

And, our Valentine's Day was lovely, Jes, thanks! Sweet Dukay got me some gorgeous flowers and a new stereo-thing. We are a people who value electronics.

Also, I will stop commenting on my own site like a freak now, but Maya, I am totally forcing Dukay to learn to play that on the guitar. Because...uh. I still can't.

Your Bo/Octopus chart, by the way, has resolved a lot of the lingering questions I had on how to tell the difference between an octopus and a cute dog I have seen on the internet. (Last category is the best!) Luckily, I have gone home for lunch--home, where no one can fire me for laughing.

I'm a dog groomer and therefore *very* familiar with doggy defense mechanisms. I'd like to state for the record that I would rather have Bo go for my throat with teeth flashing than have him use the poop defense.

Not too long ago, I had a dog on my table (a chow mix) whose defense was to unleash ungodly amounts of watery diarrhea (sorry, y'all) all over the place. It. Would. Not. Stop.

It was almost much worse though, the first salvo was aimed right where my head had been only seconds earlier.

I will not even go into the many, many anal gland stories I have. (and Miss Doxie's audience expels a simultaneous sigh of relief)

OMFG, I could not stop laughing hysterically all the way through this. I have two mini doxies of my own and Bo sounds almost exactly like my Blue. He is such a little Nazi that I'm seriously considering renaming him Hitler.

Did Bo really and truly eat a box of Tampons? Somehow I don't find that hard to believe because this one will eat anything, and I do mean anything!!

It is really hard to stifle the laughter when reviewing the octopus/bo chart. It was evil and wrong to share that during my work day (because yes, it is all about me)! My eyes will not stop watering now.

So, will we be treated to answers from the previous entry's comments? So many questions! Inquiring minds inquire!

Posted by: K
| February 21, 2006 09:22 PM

I'd think our dogs were related except for the fact that Rufus is a terrier mix (= mut). Rufus, in his so far short life, has consumed 2 cell phones, about $100 in small bills, my roommate's wallet and ATM card, my comforter, hundreds of books of matches, a head rest from my hot tub and 2 leather jackets---and that list comes without me not even having to think very hard. AND he poops at the vet's. Only difference is Rufus is a biter. Him loves him some stranger's fingers.

LMAO. I concur with your hypothesis. You haven't lived, though, until you have to give your wiener an enema. Yes, I have had that pleasure. I told the vet I would gladly PAY HER to do this for me, which she agreed to, as long as I knew that she would EXPLODE in the car, on the way home. I did the deed in the front yard, and didn't let her back in the house until I saw poo-in'. Freak has the anal gland dealie, (what the HELL is up with that?) and Mini-Freak has frequent farts that smell exactly like my husband's, so there's a lot of the "blame game," in our house. Also, she cost me well over $2,000 in vet bills in her first year of life. We call her "Scarface."

I am dying! DYING!! I have 2 longhaired doxies & a few (8) golden retrievers and this post has tears streaming down my face. I do not have to go to the gym in the morning cause my abs now hurt from laughing. I can so relate to the many miseries of Bo. Just when you think it is safe someone goes and ingests something like 5 lbs of cat food or decides it is a good idea to see if Dachshunds really can fly. Feel better Bo!!!

Not be redundant, but OMFG! Watch as 100 (okay maybe 10 due to me) people hit your log tomorrow. Thank god I saw this after I came home. I try to pass the snorc/ough complimented with tears as recovery from a cold, when I'm at work ... but not too convincing when it’s only noticeable when I'm staring at my computer screen and never anywhere else in the office.

and P.S. I think there's a weight/hands (as in height) limit on animals for humorous references to "put-them-down". Because when you're only 1 1/2 inches off the floor? Well, if you're belly's draggin' isn't it hard to tell if you're down?

(no, Mir, I totally thought the octopus was a penis. And since we were talking about Bo, I thought it was HIS and got very weirdly confused and thought maybe, just maybe, Doxie's vet should think about calling doggie services)

I literrally laughed so hard I fell out of my chair. The Bo eating things reminds me of my Mom's min pin Kona. That mutt has eaten:
at least 52 chocolate chip cookies (stealing one each week during ER and cookie time)
entire cans of trash (the dog likes dumpster diving.) And oh, god, the gas she gets after a gourmet trash can dinner!
An entire pound of chocolate chip cookies at one sitting... and still didn't learn her lesson
bowls of cat food... but the cat finally broke Kona of that habit. Seeing as how the cat is twice her size.
Many, many, many take-out dinners left carelessly unattended on the kitchen table while the rightful owner foolishly goes off to answer the phone, or door, or refill a beverage of choice. Foolish owners.
Easter grass & Mom's hair. Both of which come out the other end looking relatively the same. And the dog-dragging-the-butt-accross-the-carpet that ensues after the said ingestion of the easter grass... Oh.My.God. So funny. I just fell out of my chair again. Not really, but you get the idea.

Posted by: Kelly
| February 22, 2006 03:50 AM

Breathing...breathing...gasping for air from the laughter. I can so relate, Miss Doxie. One of our Shelties (Gandolph is his name) is a champion eater of Random Shit. Included in this list would be: one half of a bar of Dove soap (which interestingly was thrown up in bubble) and an entire container of chili powder (also ground into dining room rug which was then thrown away). Other items are similar to Bo's, including leather boots, thongs, books, pajama bottoms, tampons, toothpaste rolls, and an entire loaf of bread (plastic wrap and all). So see? Bo is not the only one. :-)

Teachers really, really should not read your webpage with the door open. I just had three students walk by my door and peek inside, wondering WHY I was laughing UPROARIOUSLY by myself in my classroom.
Doxie, you're gonna get me fired.

Posted by: Tori
| February 22, 2006 08:51 AM

That's a lot of defensive excretions. But it was hillarious - since I did not have to deal with the defensive excretions of course.

Oh, Mir. You are absolutely not wrong. It didn't hit me at first, but then, the first few times I scrolled through this entry, a small part of my brain kept going, "HEY. Who went and put a penis on my page? Wha---oh. Hi, octopus!"

For a minute, though, I thought spammers had gone all kinds of high tech.

Classic Doxie - must now run and fix my eyeliner as it is running down my face. Tried and failed to stifle my gales of laughter (people just think I'm really wacko now not just a little bit anymore) and couldn't stop. As I have my own fur-baby (Maggie) I can totally relate to the looks of hate and eating of bad things (dead squirrel, countless pounds of garbage, string of a roast that I later had to pull out of her ass and the piece de resistance - a 2lb box of Godiva chocolate). More dog stories Doxie - in fact, just more Doxie!

Posted by: Diane
| February 22, 2006 09:40 AM

This may be your funniest entry yet!!!
When I call my vet they too ask "what did Chloe eat now" Not Fritz, my other dachshund, Chloe.

Posted by: Marissa
| February 22, 2006 11:11 AM

My first job ever was a temporary gig at a veterinarian's office, while the regular girl was out having surgery, and my very FAVORITE (*insert dramatic eye roll here*) part of that job was the CLEAN-UP duty...or, umm, DOODY, I guess. Hee. (That was probably only funny to me. Sorry.)

Poor Bo! And you know? Awful trying to laugh when you have Laryngitis so, thanks.

Posted by: Mrs X
| February 22, 2006 04:23 PM

Miss D., thank you so much for this gem!! Hilarious as per usual... I am a new reader and have also gone to great lengths (and late hours) to catch up on what I've missed. Lots of love to you, Dukay, Bo and the other Doxies from NYC!

Posted by: Ashley
| February 22, 2006 04:56 PM

You know I'm jealous because Priss only eats the faces of children. And eggs.

I can't believe you didn't tell the OTHER story. I told Momma last night and she agreed that Bo is like the Stephen Hawkings of dogs. Almost.

Enjelani -- I so did the SAME thing when I discovered Miss Doxie! I started at the very beginning of her blog and read every single post until I was caught up! I didn't want to miss even one second of hilarity!

Posted by: Jessica
| February 22, 2006 11:35 PM

To Miss Doxie: Hee!

To Robyn: I have been misreading your website title for months now. I thought it said Adam n Thing, and that since you are not Adam, you must be, er...Thing. I am not very bright, but I am very sorry. It must be great when Miss Doxie and Robyn meet.

Posted by: MandaCakes
| February 23, 2006 11:41 AM

Seriously, my stomach hurts from laughing. Bo sounds like a cross between our Belly and Leo (Dachshund and Chihuahua, respectively). That was JUST too funny. Belly can still get up on the couch herself, but I'm looking into a doggie step-stool or ladder. Too funny.

Miss Doxie: Again, I say, you always make me laugh. However, this entry was one of those gems that I just LOVE because the laughter was everywhere. I think most of us with pets can relate at least in some parts of your post and the sarcasm is a thing of beauty. But the one that got me most was when you said he was lifting his little leg up, I was thinking, "hey, like a Nazi!" right before I read the next sentence where you said, "like a little Nazi." I choked and coughed on my Pringles...it was worth it.

hahah! I just started reading your site and you are SO hilarious. I feel your pain, tho, my cocker spaniel used to "piddle" whenever a stranger would pet him, with his little nub-tail a-waggin. Always fun when we had dinner guests. :)

This reminds me of the time my mother-in-laws' poodle ate a whole box of my children's crayons. We called it the Amazing Technocolor Dream Poop. My sister had a poodle that ate a 3" diameter hole in the wall of our apartment. Tell me how you start a project like that from a perfectly flat wall.

Posted by: mackmomma
| February 24, 2006 04:08 PM

Sigh. I don't have dogs, due to space issues, but hey! Wanna hear what my cats have eaten lately???

My entire Valentine's Day bouquet of roses and lilies. And then they puked all over the damn WORLD at 5 AM. Cause they love their mommy. LOVE.

Several boxes of kleenex. Chewy!

Every single hair elastic I have ever purchased, ever.

And the halting of my knitting hobby? Which I really loved? THEM. EVIL. SOB.

My cat (back at my parents place) used to eat rubber bands all the time. Rubber bands don't really pass through a cats digestive system all that well. I can remember having to remove the remains of one of the elastics from my cat's butt. How disgusting is that?? It took a lot of handwashing to feel normal after that. So sick...

Poor Bo! As bad as his defense mechanisms are, teaching him to bite as a defense won't help you any. Well, yes, there won't be the smell, but then you will have multiple teeth marks, and will spill blood. Take it from me, I have a cat who has never forgiven me for removing his front claws and his balls, so he has learned to use his teeth and bunny kick with his back claws.

So you're blog and a few others have inspired me to write my own http://carmenhasgonetoplaid.blogspot.com/. I'm new, and don't have the likes of Dukay to write about, but I'm learning, and would gladly accept any comments/suggestions. :) Ok, shameless plug, but I just want the sites I like to like me back. I'm such a people pleaser.

Posted by: VeeBeeWhy?
| February 28, 2006 01:22 PM

Doxie-
Your appeal spans the generations. I've hipped my 12 year old son to your blog and he about wet his pants he laughed so hard. An influence from Bo perhaps or just a 12 year old boys own defense mechanism? He had to stop and rest in between paragraphs to catch his breath. It makes me happy to see him enjoy something so much. Thanks!

A couple of years ago I was cleaning out some of the stuff left behind by the tenants of the house I bought. One of which was a full trash can, which hadn't seemed that heavy until I lifted it.

It was so heavy I apparently permanently damaged something in my thigh. I got the trashcan into the bigger trashcan, but then could no longer stand. Life as I knew it was over. And I didn't know my neighbors well enough to cry out for help. Not really a good way to meet your new neighbors, you know, esp. when I was dressed pretty horribly since I was doing yard clean up.

At any rate, I finally got better enough that I could crawl into the house. I crawled to the freezer and got an icepack, then crawled to the couch and sat on the ice pack. I didn't really have much hope it would help, but I was far too embarrassed to call 911, which seemed my only other option. Although it was clear I was just postponing things.

30 minutes later, I changed icepacks, and was able to limp to the freezer to get the new one. 30 minutes with the new one, and I was actually limping almost comfortably. The next day I was mildly sore but that was all.

I am still Very Glad that I did NOT call 911.

Posted by: Curious
| March 2, 2006 02:05 AM

Miss D., you're simply too much!

Awww, poor Bo! Get better, li'l buddy.

Literally laughing out loud here. Not at Bo's predicament. But, hey, we all know how bad a dog's farts can smell. It's downright otherworldly. (Don't get me started on cats' farts. That's a whole OTHER stench -- I mean, the odor is EPIC.)

Where do I begin about vets not having a sense of humor? I mean, your readers totally got the horse joke ... but I digress. My story of going to an absolutely humorless vet: I have a loving little Collie named Dex. Dex, like most Collies, is a very sweet dog, but he is a major licker. He loves loves loves to lick any part of your anatomy not covered by clothing. He especially likes to lick legs, ankles, toes, toe cleavage (yes, very ticklish, and just a little TOO familiar, if you get my drift). But what he really loves is playing Florence Nightingale to any and sundry wounds you may have, such as mosquito bites, scratches, burns, cuts -- you name it, he wants to heal it with his magical medicinal doggy saliva. One day when he was a puppy, I took him in for a check-up to a new vet -- one we'd never seen before. Said vet kept making comments about how high-strung Dex was and saying mean things about how she wasn't used to his "needle nose" and the like. She asked me about his diet -- like, what brand of dog food we were feeding him. Guess I was losing patience with her and her rude comments, b/c I said, "oh, the usual puppy formula, occasional treats, but what he really prefers is the taste of human flesh." Ha ha ... tee hee. Right? The vet and her assistant just went completely silent and STARED at me, like I had just uttered, "well, you better be careful, he's a gun-toting, crazy-assed dog who'll go midieval on your asses," or "watch out -- I'm pretty sure he's rabid." I rushed to add, "Uh, just kidding -- he just really likes to lick -- a lot -- he's just a licky dog." They continued to stare at me, like they had just stroked out or something, uncomprehending, and certainly NOT SMILING, like my poor puppy was downright EVIL. Result: at the end of Dex's exam, and once she'd recovered from her shock, the vet asked me to never come back. Is it wrong that I took offense to that? I mean, c'mon ... a Lassie dog? EVIL???

And you wanna know what my male kitty likes to gnaw on? Plastic. We don't know why, but the little bugger joneses for the stuff. Especially cellophane. Crunch crunch crunch = yum yum yummery. And you know the packaging that CDs come in? And the zip tab you pull to get the unwrapping started? He LOVES those. You can only imagine what it's like pulling those out of a cat's ass, as well as finding them in the litter box. Ew. Gross. And, btw, male cats have the anal gland thing, too. Ewwww. Grooooossss.

Keep up the great blogging!

And heil, Bo!

Posted by: Sarah
| March 2, 2006 02:35 PM

Maybe you could prop Bo's leg up in the air, like, with a stick or something, and then take a picture. And maybe you could sew a tiny little arm band with a swastika.

OK, I too was rolling on the floor after reading about Bo and his "moves!" I have a 13 year old doxie who was named Bo when I adopted him from the Humane Society. He is now named Rumpelstiltskin, which suits him because he is a somewhat evil, magical dwarf who makes every day of my life with him like a fairy tale, spinning all my straw into gold. Rumpel rarely makes defensive ass-smells, but he does burst an anal gland every time I plan to go out of town and leave him with a babysitter. How does he KNOW? Also like Bo, he lives to eat illicit items, such as the things you mentioned on your list, but also once a rawhide chew toy which he ate whole, late on a Sunday night, and almost died because it was stuck in his gullet. The vet at the emergency clinic ended up publishing an article about her lifesaving procedure in a vets' magazine. Other than that, most of his injuries have been more like the leg problem you describe--much faking and attention-seeking, so I never really know how serious it is. Like you, I usually err on the side of caution so I am pretty far behind in my retirement account contributions. My little troublemaker is just as bad as he is good, fer sher. Still, with all the trouble and strife, if you could do it all over again, wouldn't you pick the doxie? I KNOW I WOULD!!!

Posted by: Another Jessica
| March 2, 2006 07:19 PM

I am dying laughing in my office. DYING. I was fine up until the anal glands part, and then it was over. Poor Bo! Poor you! Perhaps you need to change vets? The shame might be a bit much.

Posted by: Linda
| March 7, 2006 12:20 PM

Wow. I am just glad to know that my dogs are not the only ones who have eaten Daisy razors -- we found a whole stash of the remnants when we got rid of our old sofa. They'd been stealing them from under the bathroom sink.

Oh, sweet lord! I grew up in a house with SIX dachshunds, and currently have one little brown guy, and they really are...special...aren't they? This whole story was so familiar and at the same time so fresh and fucking hilarious...I love your theory about the dachshund shape and the continuous intestine--my mother has a similar one that their long, skinny shape is indicative of them being nothing but one long digestive tract from mouth to ass-end, surrounded by ribs and fur and good for nothing but eating, pooping, producing gaseous eruptions that would put Vesuvius to shame, and destroying womens' underclothes.

I don't know WHEN I've laughed so hard! Just found your blog while looking for dachshund info on the internet. My doxie, Roscoe, MUST be related to your Bo. He, too, has incredible bowel emissions (the anal gland stuff is the WORST -- we call it "butt juice" in my household. It has even become a verb, as in "I'm late because Roscoe didn't want me to leave for work this morning so he butt juiced my sweater.") He also eats anything: he has a special love for thong underwear and socks, but his crowning achievement was eating my last couch. He had crammed a toy underneath it, and when he couldn't retrieve it or get me to retrieve it (I was in the shower at the time), he decided that the solution was to go THROUGH the couch. Brilliant! I could have killed him, but I love him so much -- in spite of his incredible badness.

Big kisses to Bo...and keep the stories coming!

Posted by: Leesavee
| March 30, 2006 03:43 PM

You totally got me in trouble...I snorted while reading this while proctoring a test.